An Uncertain Affair (The Affair Series Book 2)

by Randi Ocean

  An

  Uncertain

  Affair

  Randi Ocean

  © 2015 Randi Ocean, LLC. All Rights Reserved

  “An Uncertain Affair” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 1

  They say, “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I guess I was destined to be another Wonder Woman.

  “Witness protection”: two words I never thought would have any bearing on my life. But Emily Ryan was dead, at least to everyone who knew me - or I should say “her”? - for any part of the twenty-six years of her life. You’d think it would have been a relief to escape from potential Mob threats, but I couldn’t help but be emotional about walking away from my whole life. Emotional…. Where do I begin? Scared? Sad? Angry? Heartbroken?

  It was torture leaving my family behind, knowing the pain they must have felt, thinking I was dead. I knew they had to believe I was dead for their own safety, but the situation made me feel incredibly sad and angry. Then there was the heartbreak of leaving Adam Comstock. Adam and I had a whirlwind romance. I was falling in love with him when my world came crashing down. He was investigating a major art theft ring for the FBI and was assigned to follow me to see how I was involved. The entire scheme was happening right in front of me, and I’d been completely blind to it until Adam opened my eyes. The thievery and deception unraveled quickly. Everything unraveled quickly. I provided testimony, and the FBI provided me with a new life…overnight.

  I was no longer Emily Ryan. Bridget Stone - my new identity - took over where Emily Ryan left off. It was terrifying to be starting over. Completely over. No family, no friends, no home, no job. Well, one friend, of sorts. Everyone in witness protection has a U.S. marshal to watch over them. Sally Creighton was mine. She was a rock and the voice of reason. I wouldn’t say we were best buds, but she was always there to lean on. She helped me get settled in a small house and worked with a headhunter to set up interviews for me with photographers. Bridget’s biography was very much the same as Emily’s. Same likes and dislikes, same job skills as a photographer’s assistant. I just had to get used to answering to a new name, and not be paranoid around new people. I’d been in “the program” for about a month and was still jumpy at any loud noise or sudden gestures from people around me. It was hard to accept that I wasn’t in danger and that no one was looking for me. Sally kept me focused on building a new life without fear.

  I’d been on a half-dozen interviews, but the day I walked into Pratt Photography, I knew I’d found my niche. Dane Pratt was an award-winning food photographer recognized for his work on a handful of cookbooks. His studio had a great vibe. All the tools and equipment were meticulously organized and standing at the ready for the next tasty project. He was looking for a studio manager, and although I had never held that job title, from the job description, I was sure I could handle it.

  There was a large industrial kitchen that opened to the studio space. A woman wearing an apron was mixing up what appeared to be five bowls of gelatin. I was curious about what she was doing, but didn’t want to seem nosy by asking. We walked through the shooting space to a big farm table that was the extent of his conference room, next to a couple of comfy couches that provided a place for clients to hang out and watch while Dane was shooting.

  “Would you like something to drink - water, soda, coffee?” Dane asked

  “Water would be great. Thanks.” I think he sensed my nervousness.

  “Are you diggin’ these gorgeous fall days? Portland has it goin’ on compared to New York.”

  “Absolutely. I feel totally energized here. It’s been great.”

  “So what brought you to the left coast?” he asked.

  Sally had helped me formulate a believable story. “I needed a change. I had a bad breakup and wanted to be as far away from him as possible. The opposite side of the country seemed like a good idea.”

  Dane smiled. “Men can be such pigs, can’t they? I love that you made a break for it. You’re obviously a strong woman.” He looked further down my resume. “I see you have some Photoshop skills, too.”

  “Yes.” I pulled up some ‘before’ and ‘after’ shots on my iPad. “Here are a few images I’ve cleaned up.”

  “Sweet. You’ve got that down. It doesn’t look like you have any specific studio management experience,” he queried.

  “I’m very organized and a fast learner. I think I can adapt to whatever you need me to do.” I desperately wanted this job. I continued, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate, “I’m also a huge foodie, and I love to cook if you need any help in the kitchen for your jobs.”

  Dane howled. “Girl, you don’t have a clue what it takes to shoot food, do you?”

  “Well, not really, but as I said, I’m a fast learner.”

  “Thankfully, food styling is not part of the job description for the studio manager. What I need is someone who can manage clients, keep schedules straight, deal with vendors, that sort of thing. There is no question you’re qualified for the Photoshop work.”

  “I’m certain I can manage all that. And I love meeting new people.” Meeting new people was still an intimidating prospect for me, but if it meant landing this job, I would learn to adapt.

  “When can you start?”

  “Whenever you need me to. My schedule is totally open.”

  “Okay, that’s a plus. I like your style, but I wish you had more management experience,” he said, sounding concerned, and still reviewing my resume.

  “I promise you won’t regret it if you give me a chance.”

  “Well, you certainly aren’t lacking in enthusiasm. I have a couple more interviews scheduled, so let me get back to you by the end of the week.”

  As we walked by the kitchen, I saw the woman in the apron adding varying amounts of green food coloring to each bowl of the gelatin she was mixing when I came in. I was dying to know what kind of experiment she was working on but still thought it best not to ask.

  As I was on my way out the door, Dane gave me a fist bump and said, “Thanks for comin’ in, Bridget. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to meet me. I’ll look for your call.”

  **

  It was a gorgeous fall afternoon, brilliant sunshine and crisp, cool air. I went for a run to burn up some of the angst I felt knowing it might be a couple of days before I heard from Dane. When I got back, I sent him an e-mail thanking him again for his time and reiterating how ready and willing I was to get started learning his business and keeping him organized. His response was pleasant but gave me no indication whether he was seriously considering me for the job.

  Patience is not on my “top five” list of virtues; the next day was excruciating as I waited for his call. I kept myself busy and even went on another interview with a portrait photographer. It didn’t go well. The place felt cold and stiff to me compared to the vibe at Pratt Photography. The formal portraits of suited fiftyish and sixtyish corporate executives that lined the lobby walls seemed to be watching my every move. It was total
ly creepy. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  I started second-guessing myself and figured I should begin to face the reality that Pratt Photography might not be in my future. I was out of options. Sally was my last resort.

  “Hi, Bridget,” Sally answered warmly.

  “How’re you?”

  “I’m doin’ okay. What’s up?”

  “Well, so far, I’m not clicking very well on these interviews. The only job I really want is the studio manager position with Pratt Photography. I thought my interview with Dane Pratt went pretty well yesterday, and he’s supposed to get back to me by tomorrow, but I don’t have the experience he’s looking for. He still had two more people to interview, and I’m not sure I’ll get it. I feel like I should start looking for other options, just in case. Any ideas?”

  “Don’t discount the Pratt Photography job just yet. I’m sure since you felt good about it, he must have given you some indication he likes you.”

  “He seems to like me just fine. Whether he thinks I can actually do the job or finds someone else who has the experience he’s looking for is another story.”

  “I get it. Let me check in with my recruiter friend and see what else she’s got. In the meantime, let me know if you hear back from Dane.”

  “You’re awesome.”

  “Happy to help. Talk to you soon.”

  I was trying not to panic over the job dilemma. The mall wasn’t very far away, so window shopping seemed like a good distraction to kill some time. Christmas was still six weeks off and the halls were decked accordingly. The crush of holiday shoppers hadn’t completely kicked in yet, so I was able to leisurely stroll the wide walkways and peruse the shops. I passed a Glamour Shots store and thought, if all else failed, maybe I had a future there. Ugh! I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Sally texted me with the name and number of a wedding photographer who was looking for an assistant, but at the end of the text she added: Low $. I found my way back to my car so I would have a quiet place to call her and talk about it. Just as I unlocked the door, my phone rang.

  “Hey, Bridget, Dane Pratt here.”

  “Hi, Mr. Pratt.”

  “You’d better start calling me Dane if we’re going to be working together.”

  “Wow, really?!”

  “You’ve got the disposition and drive I think we need around here. You’ll have to learn a few things, but you certainly seem to have the chops for it. Be here Monday at seven-thirty. It’s going to be a busy week. We can have a quick cup of coffee, and I’ll give you the nickel tour. After that you’ll just have to hang on and roll with it. I’m sure your head will be spinning by Friday, but after that we’ll have a little breathing room for you to get oriented.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “All right, sister, welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you, Dane. I’m really psyched. See you Monday.”

  What a relief. It was going to be fun learning a whole new world of photography. And Dane was obviously gay, which I considered a plus. In the photography world, it was common for studio managers to hook up with the photographers they worked with. I wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone. I was still mourning the loss of my almost-relationship with Adam. I just wanted a job, a good job, and nothing more. This situation was perfect for me.

  I called Sally, but I got her voice mail. “Hi, Sally, I wanted you to be the first to know - I got the job with Dane Pratt. I’m so excited, and I can’t thank you enough for opening this door for me. Talk to you soon.” After I hung up, I realized that I didn’t have anyone else to tell.

  Chapter 2

  My first week at Pratt Photography was hell on wheels, as Dane had promised. He had a huge shoot for an Easter magazine spread. It was mid-November, but in magazine publishing, you had to be at least several months ahead of the season to go to press. I learned a lot about my job and the studio very quickly, and became fast friends with Dane’s food stylist, Valerie Essex. Valerie was the woman in the kitchen the day of my interview. She was freelance, but they referred to her as “perma-lance” because she was there almost every day, prepping, shooting, or wrapping one job or another. Valerie was a trim twenty-something with a bright red ponytail. She was very animated as she bounced to the music while she worked. I watched in amazement as she tested the various colors of green gelatin under the lights to see which one looked best as the mint jelly next to the sliced lamb. That’s what she was making the day I was there. She explained to me that real mint jelly would melt under the lights. Who knew?

  The week flew by as I watched Valerie plump the raisins and paint the icing on the hot cross buns while Dane dappled light over dozens of pastel eggs on every version of Easter grass you could imagine. On Friday afternoon, when the last client was out the door, Dane cranked up the music and opened some wine. I was exhausted. Dane and Valerie were surprisingly full of energy, considering the workload of the past week. Dane handed each of us a glass of the crisp sauvignon blanc and toasted us.

  “Great job, girls!” Dane said.

  “I had no idea shooting beautiful food was so involved,” I acknowledged, sipping the cool wine and trying to relax.

  “Valerie makes my job easy,” Dane said, holding up his glass, toasting to Valerie. “She’s so talented at making the food look fabulous even before I get my hands on it. We make a good team, don’t we, Val?”

  “Yup. We’ve been working together for, what, about three years now?” Valerie said, clinking glasses with Dane. “We work totally in sync, so we make each other look good.”

  “Do you work with any other photographers?” I asked Valerie.

  “I used to, back when Dane and I first started working together, but now it would be like cheating on him if I worked with anyone else,” Valerie said, joking with Dane. “I just couldn’t do it.”

  Dane got up and hugged Valerie on his way to refill our glasses.

  “You two are so cute together,” I said, teasing them.

  Dane raised an eyebrow and waived his finger at me. ”Don’t even breathe those words around Steve.” Steve was Dane's boyfriend. “He gets seriously jealous. He might think I jumped ship and started liking women.” We all laughed.

  “What’s everybody doing for Thanksgiving?” Valerie asked.

  I was silent, not knowing what to say. It took everything I had not to cry just thinking about it. My family was supposed to be having a reunion, but since Emily was dead, I could hardly show up for that.

  “Steve and I are going to his brother’s for the holiday,” Dane said. “I think his parents may come for dinner on Thanksgiving, but they can’t deal with the fact that he’s gay. They don’t particularly like me, either, so who knows if they’ll show up.”

  “How could they not like you?” Valerie said in disbelief. “What about you, Bridget?”

  I got up and started cleaning dishes from the shoot. I couldn’t look at them while I lied through my teeth. “My family is all over the place this year. Everyone has their own agenda, so we’re each going to do our own thing. I just haven’t made any plans yet.”

  “My parents are in Ohio,” Valerie said. “I never make that trip for Thanksgiving. Maybe we could hang out together over the weekend? I don’t mind cooking if you don’t mind cleaning up.”

  “That would be awesome!” I said, feeling relieved I didn’t have to go through the holiday alone. It actually sounded like fun.

  Dane spent the Monday before Thanksgiving getting me more oriented with the studio and going through the Easter shots to determine which ones I should clean-up for the magazine. Those would keep me busy for at least a couple days so Dane and Steve could take off Tuesday for the holiday. Valerie took advantage of her extended holiday weekend and did the food shopping for our Thanksgiving celebration. When I finally called it quits for the week on Wednesday afternoon, Valerie had the plans for the weekend well mapped out. We spent a good bit of time together, cooking, drinking lots of wine, and watching old movies. Life was beginning t
o feel almost normal again. By Sunday I was getting restless, though, ready to get back to work.

  When I arrived at the studio Monday morning, there was an e-mail from Adele Westbrook. Adele was the culinary director for the renowned chef Sergio Ramirez. He’d been the dynamic crowd favorite and front runner on Top Chef a couple of seasons ago, but he had dropped out of the competition when his wife died suddenly. It was understandable that he left, but it would have been a total game-changer for him if he had won.

  Adele’s e-mail said Sergio wanted to meet with Dane to talk about shooting the food for his new book. I was so excited; I could hardly wait to tell Dane. The moment he walked in the door, I practically accosted him with the news.

  “Hey, Dane! Sergio Ramirez wants to talk to you about the photography for his new book. Isn’t that amazing!?”

  “Hum, really?” Dane said, with way less enthusiasm than I’d expected.

  “What’s wrong? Do you have a problem with Sergio?”

  “Well, I contacted his culinary director right after he was named one of the ‘Top Ten New Chefs’ by Food & Wine Magazine about five years ago. I was just getting started out on my own and offered to take some shots for him for free. I thought it would help him out and would make me more legit to show work I had done for the hot, up-and-coming Sergio Ramirez. Nothing,” he said, waving his hands in the air and shaking his head.

  “Are you sure he got your message?”

  “A secretary of his at the time sent me a note saying they would get back to me, but I never heard another peep. I suspect I wasn’t a big enough fish. Now he’s interested, now that I’ve won some awards for my work. Well, it’s going to cost him, big time.”

  **

  The meeting with Sergio and Adele was set for the following week. Valerie and I cleaned up the studio, and dressed it up with half a dozen impressive poster-size shots from some of Dane’s best work. Valerie was polishing the food-styling kitchen, while I researched any backstory I could dig up about Sergio.